His First Kill
by Lunastar268
Summary: It was meant to be simple, I had thought everything through and found nothing could go wrong, and yet- something had! This wasn't meant to happen, but now, he was gone… and it was my fault!


**Authors Note: Just a quick one shot for an Idea I couldn't get out of my head after re-watching some Scrubs episodes. This one is based on 'My first kill' in which JD realises he never killed anyone, I just put my own twist on the idea. Don't worry: I haven't forgotten my other stories, they are still in progress: I've just been going through a stressful period which keeps causing major writers block and I'm hoping this will help cure it! Anyway- enjoy!**

I've been working here for a while now, years actually. Long enough to have seen death countless times and get used to carrying on around it. When something goes wrong all you can do is clean up the mess, replace your smile and get back to doing whatever you were doing.

Of course most doctors and surgeons will sooner or later have to live with the knowledge they are responsible for at least one death, as well as some nurses, hell even some of the orderlies have goofed up! For the life of me I don't know how Doug handled it, and yet, there has always been that select handful, those chosen few who could honestly say the only blood on their hands was literal and could be washed away.

For a long time I liked to include myself in that number. I hated death, most people would think I was used to it: what with one of my prized possessions being dead and stuffed, and yet, I actually wasn't. I never had gotten to the point of that strange attitude so many people here were able to adopt, in which the can act so caring to a patient one minute, but be over their death the next. But I never got used to death. Luckily I was quite good now at avoiding it, and when I was forced to face it I was able to find my own way round it. Most often through humour.

But this isn't funny.

And I have no right to joke even if I could attempt it.

I've been told I have an odd sense of humour, that I don't take things seriously, and often it's true.

But death is different.

Death is too real to ignore.

And now I have caused it.

I brought an innocent life to an end.

It's odd, my job in this hospital actually saves lives, it's important, and yet many people don't appreciate it: staff and patients alike will walk all over people to get what they want. It's infuriating when those who you're meant to help make safe and comfortable just complain and tell you how to do to your job.

But he was never like that, sure I wasn't that close to him, yet I had allowed myself to grow attached. Something I knew was a bad idea: in hospitals people come and go, you're just a face in a crowd, and yet, he noticed me, specifically me, didn't see just the name tag that told people I was a part of the mechanics, a cog in the ever whirring machine that was a hospital.

I wish I had told him I appreciated it.

I wish I wasn't the cause of that slip.

But I was.

Sure no one's blamed me: everyone's first thought was it was an accident- they happen- and yet, this place seemed a bit less bright now. I was no longer untouchable.

Dr Cox knows the truth. I don't know how, but he does. I guess he almost suspected it would happen. Yet he barely retaliated after the first day. He was furious when he first found out, I was glad someone else broke the news. However, since then he seems different. It was like everything that made him, him, was gone: the fire, the passion, the sarcastic humour. He didn't even rant anymore. He tries to pretend he doesn't care, I know the truth, and this one's hit him hard! Harder than me I realise and I caused it! That's just not right! Why should he look guilty? I'm the one who made the mistake!

Only this is different from other times things went wrong: he's not hiding behind anger or alcohol. He's just gone numb. Like he's given up ever getting close to anyone ever again, and they were close- Dr 'don't get attached' was undoubtedly attached, how could he not be. And now... all his (admittedly few) relationships are falling apart as he isolates himself, scared to ever risk this feeling again. Scared to even feel at all. And this time no one's able to pull him out of it; they're too busy falling apart themselves.

Somethimes I wonder if the only reason I'm yet to receive any blame is that everyone else is too busy blaming themselves.

But how could they be responsible?

I made that slip

I let him bleed out because I froze rather than try and patch the head wound or call for help in a damn hospital!

News flash: I'm the guilty party.

I made the mistake.

I held the responsibility.

I killed JD.

He died not even knowing my name. Not knowing I truly did see him as a friend. I work harder than ever now, cleaning the messes others make, preventing deadly infections or fatal trips from taking more lives. I mop away with the same device I used to cause that deadly slip, which caused his head to smash onto that table fracturing his skull.

I work every day to clean the messes others make.

But I can never erase my own.

 **OK: this is admittedly short and I almost ended it a paragraph sooner, but didn't think it was very clear whose POV this was from, let me know what you think. Hope you enjoyed this, it was a fun chance to try a bit of mystery and a twist ending. I'll get back to my main stories now.**

 **(If you were wondering about the prized possession part it was a reference to one of the similarities between JD and the Janitor: JD had Rowdy and the Janitor had his Squirrel army)**


End file.
